


While He Watches

by orphan_account



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Cousin Incest, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), F/M, Incest, Vaginal Fingering, Victim-on-Victim Non-Con, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When he calls them both in, they know exactly what he wants.
Relationships: Barret Racket & Sasha Racket, Sasha Racket/Brock Racket
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	While He Watches

He calls them into his office, and they _know_ what's coming, because there’s only one reason he would call them both in at the same time. They can't look at each other as they make their way to his office, side-by-side, but they do share a quick glance when they reach the door. _Who’s going to knock?_

This time, it’s him. He can feel her relief at not having to do it, but relief is a fleeting thing in their situation, and it dissipates as quickly as it arises.

“Enter.” They both flinch at his voice. Only now, while the door is still closed, because if they flinch where he can see, it will be _so much worse._

Because he knocked, Sasha opens the door.

Barrett sits at his desk, hands folded expectantly. Sasha stands there, back stiff, while Brock closes the door behind them. She doesn’t shake, not anymore.

She stares at her boot, not making eye contact for as long as possible, until—

“Look at me, both of you.”

When she lifts her gaze, he stares right back at her, eyes dark, before they flit to Brock. “You know what to do.”

And they do. They know all too well. They pointedly don’t touch each other until they reach the sofa. She stands in front of it and backs up until the backs of her legs brush against it. She kicks off her boots. Brock makes quick work of removing her shirt. _The sooner this is over…_

Brock kneels before her and undoes the fastenings of her trousers. He doesn’t need to say anything; doesn’t even need to her in the eye, for her to hear his apology as he slides them down her legs. When they lie in a pool at her feet, she sits, and Brock pulls them the rest of the way off.

She can feel the slime of Barrett’s gaze on her skin, in her bones, in every tense movement of every muscle in her body.

Her knees seem as if they’re melded together until she feels the softest touch of Brock’s fingertips against them, and she stiffly forces herself to open up.

Her stomach lurches when Brock touches her. He’s methodical in the way he knows how to make her come undone. As little as they both want it, they don’t get to leave until Barrett gets to watch her come.

So Brock gets to work as if it were any other assignment from Barrett, rubbing her clit slowly at first and gradually increasing in speed, in a way he’s unwillingly learned will send her over the edge.

Sasha tips her head back so it’s resting against the couch, and closes her eyes, trying to allow her body to trick her into thinking that she enjoys this.

And it works, which is a relief, because sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it takes her hours.

She feels that nauseatingly familiar build of pressure while Brock rubs her clit. When he sticks a finger in her, the gasp she lets out would fool anyone but him into thinking she enjoys this. Brock continues to rub her clit and curl his finger inside her as her thighs start to tremble, her breaths coming in soft, ragged gasps, and they both know what happens next.

But first, always before that.

“Look at me, Sasha.”

That’s the worst part about all of this. The part she dreads most every time he summons them.

Her eyes meet his right as she comes, a choked sob tearing itself out of her lungs.

She holds his gaze, still trembling slightly from her orgasm.

_Please. Please don’t ask for another._ She doesn’t say, schooling her expression so he can’t know she’s thinking it.

They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity while she waits for him to tell her what to do next.

And finally, when she’s certain he’s going to demand more. “That’s all. Get out.”

She pulls her clothes on as quickly as she can, not bothering to fasten her trousers, and she and Brock leave together.

Later, they lie next to each other, not touching, while she sobs silently into her pillow and he whispers apology after apology.


End file.
